


Festival

by WeeCoconutFlakes



Series: Sheaf's Chronicles [5]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bard - Freeform, Festival, Gen, Magic, kenku, tabaxi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 04:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeCoconutFlakes/pseuds/WeeCoconutFlakes
Summary: Sheaf and Plume arrive in the small city of Fellshine, and Plume learns about the Bard's College, as well as how to harness his own magical potential. Meanwhile, Sheaf works to expose King Duskstone's misdeeds in the city.





	Festival

Plume was starting to feel as though he hadn’t made the greatest choice. While leaving the Cockatrice allowed him to escape the constant berating he received from Captain Nimma, he often found himself terribly bored. Sheaf had accompanied him, of course, but whenever they stopped he had some business or another that Plume wasn’t much interested in. Sheaf still had the rebellion in his heart, whereas Plume was still looking for a simple adventure. So he often found himself in the position he was now in: alone in a strange city, doing nothing.

Of course, he didn’t intend to continue this trend. He had found a nice crate that no one complained about him dragging off, and set it at a street corner. He thought back and found the perfect tale, and set to attract the attention of the throngs of people passing by.

“Ladies and gentlemen, creatures of all sorts, let not this day be boring any longer. I bear strange tales and exciting accounts of happenings from everywhere; from the furthest corner of the world to the secrets of the very city you stand in now. You need only lend me your ear and let me entertain your imagination with the true stories I have bore witness to!” The spiel was one he’d used time and time again, and it never failed to draw a few people. His appearance didn’t hurt; a tabaxi was a rare sight in most places, especially one who dressed and moved such as Plume. He had an aura that drew people to hear his words, which he took to his advantage as often as possible.

He told his story with passion and furor, his words flying from his mouth. He created a world within which his listeners lived for a few moments, and he smiled as he saw more and more drawn into his audience. As the day progressed, much of his audience reluctantly left, proceeding with the business of the day. A few remained, enraptured by the stories the tabaxi told.

It was at a break between such stories that a strange music began to play. It drew the audience away, even wrapping Plume up in it. He shook his head and looked to see a small group of people with instruments, a man at its head, his story and song making its way around the crowd. Plume was confused, no performer had ever been able to draw his crowd away, not even on his worst days. He stood there dumbfounded until the group took their bows and the crowd dispersed. As the musicians packed away their instruments, the leader picked his hat up from the ground, and began counting the coin they had earned.

Plume shook his head clear and stormed over to the leader. “How in hell did you do that?”

The human regarded him, confused. “Do what? Sing, tell tales and bring beautiful music to the people?”

Plume shook his head. “Steal my crowd! No one has ever done that.”

The leader let out a hearty laugh. “Ah. Well, the answer is simple. We are no mere entertainers such as yourself.”

Plume’s fur bristled at his words, and he felt his claws slowly extending. He muttered, “Think carefully on your next words…”

“We are bards. Surely you know of the College.”

Plume’s brow furrowed. “The College of Bards? The hoity-toity idiots who snatch up otherwise fine performers and stifle them with formal training in a free art? Yes, I know of them.”

The bard sighed. “It’s a shame you see us as such. Bards are no mere performers. The College finds promising pupils and teaches theme to weave words into wizardry, and song into spellcraft.”

Plume looked at him with apprehension. He still had a great bias against the College, but something the man said struck him as odd. “Bards are performing mages?”

“That’s quite a simplification of it, fellow. Bards are-”

“No, I get it. How does one know if they are a bard?”

The leader’s eyes lit up. “You think you may have the aptitude.”

“Just tell me how to know.”

“I have a way,” he said as he waved his hand through the air. Something felt different in the air as he studied Plume, and a smile crept onto his face.

Plume was becoming impatient. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for magic. And it’s all over you.”

“Yes, I knew that,” Plume replied, regretting asking. “I’ve always thought of it as a simple quirk.”

The human furrowed his brow. “You knew of your magical talent?”

“Of course. I use it from time to time.”

“And you never pursued it?”

“I had better things to do.”

A smile broke once more on the human’s face. “That sounds exactly like the sort of thing a bard would do. I believe you have the aptitude, you just need some help developing it.”

“Hey, hey,” Plume interjected. “I’m not joining your College, alright?”

“You seem to have this odd bias against the College. Why is this?”

Plume shrugged. “I don’t need to be cooped up in a room learning how to tell stories when I can learn on a street corner from experience.”

The human chuckled. “That would be dreadful. Think of the College more as a hub for us bards to learn more of the world from each other. Some take records, some trade stories, and some come in just for a place to rest. The College simply wants to spread the knowledge and experience of its members.”

“You’re a recruiter, aren’t you?”

“You could say that. Why don’t I make you a deal? Come with me, let me help you learn a bit more about your abilities, and get you the equipment to use them. If you still want to learn more, join the College. Otherwise, you may be on your way.”

Plume thought carefully. He weighed his options, and made a decision. He wasn’t sure which way to go, but nothing could overrule his ultimate logic. “I suppose I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Fantastic. My name, by the way, is Mytus Jokern. And you are?”

“Inked Plume. Just call me Plume.”

“Follow this way, Mr. Plume.”

So they walked, and found a small shop in the tight streets of the city. Inside was a wizened little gnome, happily humming to himself whilst tinkering with some tools, peering through his thick spectacles. Mytus cleared his throat, and the gnome glanced up.

“Mytus, my dear friend,” he said, hopping off his stool and going to the man. “What brings you through my doors this fine day?”

“A potential recruit, I’d like to get him outfitted.” The gnome looked behind Mytus to see Plume, glancing around the room. The walls were adorned with many gadgets and fine instruments, no doubt crafted by the gnome himself. It was a small space, but had a very cozy feeling. The bench where the gnome was working was cluttered with bits of metal and half-finished trinkets, all of which made Plume furiously curious.

The gnome regarded Plume. “I swear, the creatures of Faerûn are getting taller and taller.”

“I see it much the opposite way, myself.”

The old gnome chuckled, and nodded. “I suppose so, I suppose so. You can call me Twist. And you are?”

“Plume, of the ship Cockatrice.”

Mytus turned to him suddenly. “Cockatrice? The pirate ship?”

Plume smirked. “The very same.”

Twist sat himself on his stool once more. “You mean to join the College, I take it.”

“Perhaps. I’m still apprehensive.”

Twist nodded. “Mytus usually finds your sort. He likes a challenge.”

Plume looked at him with confusion. “My sort?”

“The Bard’s College, like any good thing, has many enemies. They spin tall tales of the way the College scoops up great artists, and stifles them; all a load of kobold droppings, of course. Mystus usually goes after the ones who’ve heard the stories; most everyone else would let you think what you think.”

“What reason do these enemies have, then?”

Mystus spoke up. “It depends. Some seek to control the influence we have, some seek to limit it. And some simply want us gone.” Twist adjusted his spectacles. “No sense to dwell on such dour topics. How can I help you, Plume?”

“Mystus says I need an instrument.”

Twist nodded. “There’s nothing The Weave responds to quite like music. Do you have any instruments in mind?”

“Well, what do you have?”

Twist laughed and shook his head. “The question is what do you want? You’re here for the College. If you know an instrument I don’t know how to build, I surely know where to learn. So, Plume, what do you want?”

Plume thought. He remembered back to his tryst with that nymph all those years ago. “I can play about anything, but I really know pan flutes.” At the end of that mysterious weekend, he woke up with nothing but a flute in his hand and knowledge of a new language.

“Ah, yes. Portable, simple, but elegant.” He stepped up onto his counter, and let a roll of tape fall to the floor, measuring Plume’s height. “Give me your hand,” He said, picking up a ruler. He nodded as he looked at it, and made a mark. He hopped down from the counter and went into the back of the store.

Plume turned to Mystus. “Why is everything so large, relative to him?”

Mystus shrugged. “The store is built for the customers, I suppose. It works for him, and he works well, so I don’t question his methods.”

As they were talking, Twist returned with a block of dark wood. Grabbing a tool, he started to carve into it. Before Plume’s eyes, the block was transformed into a small tube. He grabbed another, and carved that one too. Soon, he had a small array of tubes, all in varying sizes. He fastened them all to a bar, and bound the tubes together. He glanced up at Plume, and, as an afterthought, drove a small metal eye into the instrument, running a leather cord through it. He finished it off and presented the instrument to Plume.

“Give it a quick blow, see how you like it,” Twist said as Pume accepted the flute. He blew through it, quickly settling into the rhythm of a song. Mystus smiled through until he set it down.

“Sounds beautiful as all your work, Twist.”

The gnome chuckled. “You flatter me, old friend. Anything for the College.”

Plume was equally satisfied, and looped the cord over his head, letting the instrument hang from his neck. “What’s your connection to the College, Twist?”

“Oh, many of my old friends are members. I’m not one myself, of course, but they always come to me when they need good craftsmanship. They pay me well for my work, and I work well for their pay,” he said, punctuating his statement with a chuckle. “Ultimately, I believe in what the College does. They spread joy and art, letting their members learn from each other. These days, there aren’t enough places where you can say something like that.”

Mystus agreed, solemnly. “Everything has a caveat, it seems. The College is no such place. Our purpose is our purpose. Nothing will change that.”

Plume looked at the two men, and could sense their sincerity. They believed in the college, more so than anything else, it seemed. Plume had only one last question.

“How do I join?”

Mystus looked up. A smile crept on his face. “There’s a lad. As far as I’m concerned, you already have. I’ll put you down on our records, so no one questions you.”

“That’s it?”

“I’d already decided you should be a member, all I needed was for you to agree.”

“Oh. That makes things easy.”

Twist spoke up. “Isn’t the College holding a festival tomorrow? That’d be quite the welcome for the man.”

Mystus’ eyes widened. “Of course! I knew something was escaping me.” He turned to Plume. “I’d like to invite you to be a part of our festival. It should be quite the event, and Twist is right. A festival is the best way to greet the College.”

“It’d be an honor,” said Plume. Once they’d exchanged goodbyes, he turned and exited the shop. He wound his way through the streets and found Sheaf in the town square. Sheaf immediately noticed Plume and walked to him quickly.

Plume greeted his friend. “Sheaf, did you find what you were looking for?”

Sheaf nodded. “I did, and I need your help. I learned this town is hosting a festival tomorrow.”

“They are. I’m going to be in it!”

Sheaf blinked. “Oh. That makes things much easier. I believe this festival is to be sabotaged.”

Plume threw his hands up. “Sabotaged? By whom?”

“Agents of Duskstone, of course. The Bard’s College promotes individuality and independence. Duskstone needs to hurt their credibility.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Duskstone’s agents will have infiltrated the festival. I need you to find anyone suspicious.”

Plume snapped his fingers. “I just got finished being suspicious of the College, Sheaf.” He sighed. “All right, anything else?”

“Once it gets started, I’ll need you to be alert.We can’t be too careful.”

“Got it. Find anyone suspicious.” He nodded, then frowned. “Wait, what do I actually do with them once I find them?”

“Keep an eye on them and let me know who they are. I will search them for evidence that we can use to tie them to Duskstone. We can turn this to our advantage, and turn the people against Duskstone.”

“The way you say it, you sound as bad as he is.”

“You know my intentions are good.”

“Still. It’s like you see the people as tools for the revolution.”

Sheaf paused. “Perhaps I have lost some sight here. I will reflect on this.” He smoothed down some feathers. “In the meantime, keep your eyes out.”

“Will do. That festival is going off without a hitch.”

Sheaf disappeared down an alley, leaving Plume to walk down to the College. He walked into the courtyard and saw Mystus.

“Ah, and there’s the man himself!” Mystus was speaking with an elf woman, who was writing something down. “I was just getting you recorded, you couldn’t have better timing.”

The woman looked up from her writing, and looked at Plume. “Inked Plume. Welcome to the College.” She spoke dryly, and her face was completely neutral. She then strode off, into the building.

Mystus grinned at Plume. “Tengrig. She keeps the College running.”

“Is she always so charming?”

“She’s busy with the festival. And everything else us bards dream up.”

“So, yes?”

“Oh, yeah. She is always incredibly stressed. But, she seems to like it.”

“Kinky.”

Mystus turned to him, with a quizzical look. Then he shook his head and laughed. “You’re going to fit in. Let me have you meet the festival team.” Mystus led Plume to inside the building, and to a room with a few people lazing about, idly chatting.

One of them, a young halfling, greeted Mystus cheerily. “Morning, Mystus,” she chirped, hopping off a chair.

“I wish it still were. We’re running out of time, you know.”

“Ah, don’t be so uptight, Mystus; that’s Tengrig’s job. You know the planning’s all done, and we can’t set up ‘til the rush is over.” The group murmured in agreeance, paying most of their attention to their own interests.

A dwarf stepped over. “Who’s the cat, Mystus?”

“I was wondering when you’d notice,” he answered. He addressed the room. “This is Plume, he’ll be helping you. He’s new around here, so be nice to him.” He left, and Plume worked himself into the group. He learned of the plans to set up a few booths and lanterns, as well to set up a large, thin cover over the main area, in case of weather.

“You never can be sure about the rain, around here,” said the dwarf. “Could be sunny one second, and then you’ll be soaked before you realize the rain has started!”

“Don’t mind Gigtern, he thinks King Duskstone controls the weather,” said the halfling.

The dwarf interjected, “You don’t know, Mentha! He has wizards that no one knows about!”

The halfling shook her head. “Sure he does, Gigtern. Just like Twis-”

“Don’t even bring up Twist! I know what you’re going to say! But look at the evidence. Have you seen the way he crafts? He says he’s a gnome, and aye, he looks like one. But I bet you here and now, he’s lizardfolk.”

Mentha turned to Plume. “He has an unholy snore, too.”

Plume could tell he was going to enjoy himself. Over the next few hours he passed the time with the other bards, and was pleased to find even his flirting was responded to in kind. He and Mentha made plans to meet up later that night, and Gigtern managed to calm down.

Tengrig walked in the room and addressed the team. “We have the go-ahead. Go set up the festival.” She then promptly left.

Mentha mocked a call out to her. “I’m excited to see how it goes too, Tengrig.” It received a laugh from the group.

Plume followed the others as they made their way to the square where the festival was to be held. A drow seemed to be taking the lead, and he divvied up the responsibilities.

“Plume, you’re new?”

“Indeed,” he answered.

“Go up onto the rooftops with Mentha and Iliris.” He pointed out a wood elf with a large pouch at his hip and a bow on his back. Plume followed them up a ladder to the top of one of the buildings lining the square.

“What’s the plan?” Plume asked.

Iliris opened his pouch, and pulled a folded cloth from it. “First, we have to unfold this. Then we fasten it to a roof at each corner of the square.”

“What is it meant to do?”

“It keeps any rain off the festival. Before you ask, it’s enchanted. A gift to the College from a while back.”

Plume nodded, impressed. “Very well. What do you want me to do?”

Iliris pointed out the roofs in question. “Each of those have a loop like this one,” he said, pointing to a thick metal loop laid into the roof they were standing on. “We’ve found the best way to set it up is to attach the corners to an arrow, which I shoot toward each roof. I want you to pick it up and tie it to the loop when I let it off. Mentha will be doing the same on the opposite side. Then you meet in the middle, and make sure everything stays. You may as well go now, I can unfold the thing myself.”

Plume heeded his directions, and set off to the rooftop to the right. When he got there, he looked and saw Mentha across the square from him, as well as Iliris tying the first corner down. He then looped a length of rope around an arrow and fired toward Plume. It landed a few yards away, and Plume pulled the arrow out of the wooden rooftop. He noted the pockmarked surface around it. The College must have festivals pretty often.

He ran over to the loop and tied the corner down to the thick bit of metal. He noticed that, once unfolded, the cloth was remarkably thin. It was practically transparent. Iliris saw that Plume had finished tying it, and fired off his second arrow. Mentha quickly got her corner tied, and Plume made his way to the remaining corner. There he met Mentha, and noticed that the last half of the cloth was dangling over the center of the square, out of reach.

He turned to Mentha and asked, “How is he going to-”

She interrupted him, pointing across the square. “Watch.” There, Iliris jumped off the roof, onto the cloth, sliding down the indent he created. When he reached the bottom, he turned and grabbed a rope that was hanging from the final corner, sliding down to the ground below. He landed gently, tying the rope to his final arrow and sending the whole thing flying up to the final roof. The arrow struck the side of the building, and Mentha leaned down to grab it. She pulled it from its place and tied it off. The whole square was now covered by the thin cloth.

Plume was impressed. “You guys do this often?”

“Is that a bad pickup line?” asked Mentha. “Yeah, once every two months, at least. We’re pretty practiced at this point.”

“I can see that,” Plume remarked, as he made his way back to the ladder. He saw that a lot of progress had been made in the square. The drow was talking with some merchants who wanted to set up stalls in the festival. Plume saw a motion out of the corner of his eye, and looked to see Sheaf, gesturing to him. Plume stepped over to him, into a small alleyway.

“Have you found anyone suspicious?” Sheaf asked.

Plume pursed his lips. He’d completely forgotten about his job in Sheaf’s plan. “No one seems to stand out. You’re sure Duskstone has agents in the College?”

Sheaf furrowed his brow, tapping his foot. “I can’t be sure of anything, honestly. My sources are only so good.”

“What sources are those, by the way? You never tell me.”

“You never come with me. You can find out if you help me find information.”

Plume realized Sheaf’s trap. “Best leave that world to you. You know these people better than I do, and…”

“And I thought people was your ‘thing,’ Plume,” Sheaf said, forming air quotes as he did so.

“Okay, well, if I didn’t go off and find my own things, you wouldn’t have anyone in the College.”

“Fair enough. I didn’t come here to fight, anyway. I think I have a good idea of what our plan should be, as far as exposing Duskstone.”

Plume perked up. “Ooh, do tell.”

“They must have orders. If they are being sent here, they will need to know what to look for. If they are already here, they will need to know when to act. Either way, they will have something on or near themselves, and it should spell everything out.”

“Fantastic. So, whoever we catch, we just read out their orders, right?”

“Not quite. They will be smart, especially anyone undercover. I can take care of anyone from the outside, but your responsibility is those inside. I still believe the organization is based from within the Bard’s College.”

“Okay, so then what do you want me to do. Still keep my eye out?”

“It seems to me there are about ten people central to planning this festival. I can safely assume you are not responsible, so that leaves nine suspects. I want you to search their items for any sign of orders from Duskstone.”

“Okay, so what do I do if I find them?”

“You cannot let them know you are aware of their purpose. Keep quiet, and let me know. We will expose them when the time is right.”

“What does Duskstone even intend to do? I mean, it’s a festival, so what if things go wrong?”

“I believe he plans to endanger the people attending. If the College is seen as reckless, even dangerous, it won’t be hard for him to eliminate their influence.”

“Wait, you mean Duskstone wants to kill-”

Sheaf shushed him. “Not so loud, Plume. We are meant to be covert. Find the orders. Report back to me.”

Sheaf turned to leave, but Plume grabbed him. “Wait, what should I do at the festival?”

Sheaf shrugged. “Enjoy yourself. I will take care of the rest.” He left, and Plume felt a weight on his shoulders. He turned and jumped, as Mentha was directly behind him. She wore a mischievous smile.

“Well, Plume. Interesting conversation, there.”

“Mentha! Hi! What- what are you doing?”

“Oh, I just saw a handsome tabaxi hanging about in an alley and got curious. ‘Report back to me,’ huh? What exactly are you reporting?”

“Oh, well, you heard that?”

“Yeah, as well as something about orders?”

“Don’t mind Sheaf there. He’s paranoid, you know. Like Gigtern.”

“Gigtern is delusional. He sounded real serious. What’s going on, Plume?”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. We should be focusing on the festival, really.”

Mentha sighed. “Fine, but you’re telling me tonight.”

“Alright, will do.” He stepped around her and back into the center of the festival, involving himself back into the preparation. He worked hard, and soon enough, the whole of the festival was ready to start. It was far past sunset, and they had been working by magical light. They were dispersing, and Mentha grabbed Plume’s arm.

“Shall we, then?”

Plume shook his head. “I have something I wanted to do first. Can I meet you up? I know where to go.”

Mentha frowned. “Is this the thing you were doing in the alley?”

“No, no. I told you, that’s nothing. I wanted to see Twist about something. Ask him a favour.”

“Oh, okay. Well… just don’t keep me waiting, I guess.” She strode ahead of him, and turned off toward the College. Plume went the opposite direction, finding his way to Twist’s store.

He was pleasantly surprised to see light still flowing out of the shop windows. He tried the door, and found it unlocked. He stepped in and Twist looked up from whatever trinket he was assembling.

“Plume, my boy. What can I do for you?”

“First, I have a question. What are you doing up so late?”

Twist grinned. “Same as you. Preparing for the festival. You see, festivals draw a lot of customers. They see all the bards, and think ‘oh, perhaps I am a bard!’ and they head on down here, and buy an instrument. Then maybe they buy a trinket as well, and the friends they dragged to the shop buy a trinket too. It’s good business.”

“Fair enough. I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Is it College business?”

“Not really. Personal. But I can happily pay, especially for your work.”

“Very well. What do you have?”

Plume pulled a small piece of paper from his pack, presenting it to Twist. It was the pattern on the signet ring he had found in Saúte. “I’m sure this is a bit outside of your expertise, but I would love to have this on a ring.”

Twist looked it over, furrowing his brow. “I can do it. Do you have any preference on the material?”

Plume shook his head. “As long as the symbol is accurate, I’ll be happy.”

“Plume, tell me. This diagram… it must have been drawn either by a master of the craft, or-”

“A kenku.”

Twist nodded, his face relaxing. “Ah. Of course. What I’d give to have the kenku’s eye.” He laughed. “Of course, I do good work without it. Things would be easier, that’s all. No kenku has my dedication, that’s for sure.” Twist adjusted his spectacles. “Of course, you didn’t come here to talk philosophy with an old gnome. I’ll have this for you soon, come by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have the mold cast by then, and likely the iron poured.”

Plume nodded. “How much will it cost me?”

“Truth be told, I’m not sure. I’ll have to haggle with the blacksmith for the iron and the use of his furnace, and he never can seem to make up his mind about prices. Always spouting about ‘supply and demand,’ and ‘changes in the market.’ He’s a good man, though, and his business does well. Just a bit hard to work with. Whatever the price, it’ll be manageable, don’t worry.”

Plume thanked Twist and left the diagram with him. He left the shop and headed to the College. He climbed up the stairs to the third floor, the dormitories. He passed by the doors of empty rooms and rooms for those passing through and arrived at Mentha’s dorm. He knocked on the door and she opened it, wearing a comfortable outfit of linens.

“I was wondering if you’d ever arrive.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Twist had a lot to say.”

“I don’t blame you for sticking around for it. Come in.”

Plume stepped through the doorway and Mentha closed it behind him. Plume asked, “So, shall we?”

Mentha shook her head. “You have something to tell me first,” she said, walking toward him. She backed him up to the bed and pushed him down into it, so she was above him. “So spill.”

“Right. You really want to know.”

“Of course I do! You suspicious cat!”

“You’re going to be disappointed.”

“So will you if you don’t tell me soon,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Fine, then. It’s dumb, I told you it’s nothing. My friend back there, Sheaf, thinks someone is going to sabotage the festival. He wants me to keep an eye out.”

Mentha furrowed her brow. “Do you think he’s right?”

“Well, I’m not entirely convinced, but you can never be too careful.”

“Right, those are words you live by,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Fair. But I want to take this thing seriously, I want to show that I believe in the College. It seems like the one thing I can do right.”

Mentha cocked her head. “Plume, do you, of all people, have a inferiority complex?”

Plume thought. “I don’t know if I’d say that. I guess in a way… I’ve always been in situations where those around me are better at what I should be doing. The College is the one place that values the skills that I have. I want to make it count.”

“Wow. Of all people, you seem the most self-assured and confident, I wouldn’t expect this from you.”

“Look, I’m still great. I know that. This just is the first time it seems to matter to anyone else.”

Mentha laughed. “That’s one way to look at it. As lovely as all this introspection is, would you like to get to the main topic of the night?”

Plume smiled. “Don’t mind if I do.”

When they finished, Mentha fell asleep quickly. Plume, however, stayed awake next to her. When he was sure she was unconscious, he slid out of bed, ready to work. He gathered some of his gear, and silently opened the door.

He was going to set out on his job for Sheaf. He was still unsure if there was any saboteur, but he wasn’t going to let them get by for no reason. The nearest occupied room belonged to Iliris. Plume crept into the room, and noticed it empty. He relaxed, and started searching for correspondence. He turned up with nothing but some crumpled papers with mediocre poetry scrawled on them. As he left, he shut the door as silently as he had opened it.

The next door belonged to Gigtern. He was tempted to rule Gigtern out off the bat, due to his suspicion of the king. Ultimately, he decided to investigate; after all, he had all night. So he silently pushed the door open, and found the dwarf sleeping in his bed, snoring a storm. Plume was very careful as he searched around. The wastebasket was empty, and the desk had nothing of interest. He was ready to move on, when he ran a hand on the under the desk.

There he felt paper, flush against the wood. He perked up, and crouched to see under. It was a tight fit, the tabaxi’s tall body under the dwarf’s low desk, but he saw an envelope hung on a hidden hook in the underside of the desk.

Plume muttered to himself, “Now, what have you got to hide, Gig?” Gigtern was starting to quiet his snores, apparently drifting deeper. He carefully pulled the envelope out from its perch, and opened it. The wax seal was already broken, and was completely plain beside. Inside, however, the top of the letter bore the official seal of Duskstone’s Court. It read,

Gigtern Ablestern

This letter is addressed due to your position in the Bard’s College in Fellshine. The Court orders that the festival to occur in late Eleint must not go as planned. The College is a threat to the stability of the kingdom, and must be eliminated. By your discretion, turn the people of Fellshine against the dissidents using this upcoming festival. Casualties are acceptable. You must leave no trace of the Court’s involvement. Additionally, as always, report any dissidence out of the ordinary. Eliminate any members of Cockatrice you encounter.

Ensure these orders are not found.

Plume looked from the letter to the sleeping dwarf. He mouthed to himself, in the silence of the room, “Wow,” and set the letter back down. He packed it back into the envelope, and pocketed the letter. He crept out of the room and set to close the door. Before he shut it all the way, he heard a sound from inside. It was a quiet, deep, rumbling laughter.

“Wrong move, cat,” Plume heard from inside the room. Then he heard a loud snore pick up.

The next morning, Plume was waiting for Sheaf in the same alley they’d met the day before. Sheaf saw him and made his way over.

“Anything to report?”

Plume nodded. “It’s the dwarf. Gigtern Ablestern. He has orders to turn the people against the College today.”

“Good. Don’t let him know you know, and I’ll take care of him when the time is right.”

“About that.” Plume feigned a cough. “I’m pretty sure he knows I found his orders.”

Sheaf straightened up. “How sure?”

“He muttered taunts to himself sure.”

Sheaf was overcome with concern. “That’s a problem. He didn’t attack you when you found them?”

Plume shook his head. “I think I woke him as I was putting them back. He didn’t have time. But I’m sure he has a plan.”

Sheaf thought. “So he thinks you are unaware that he saw you?”

“I’m guessing so, yeah. He seemed to be laying low when he noticed.”

“Use that to your advantage. Keep your guard up, and don’t let him have you alone.”

“Right, I can do that. I’ll keep around Mentha.”

“Good. He can’t do anything without revealing himself. Hold out until I can take care of him.”

Plume nodded solemnly as Sheaf walked away. He wasn’t sure what to do, until he saw the drow in charge of preparations in the square. He approached the drow, and greeted him.

“Is there any way I can help?”

“I don’t think so. Everything’s set up. You could test the cloth.”

“How do I do that?”

“You take a bucket of water, and dump it on the cloth. If the water disappears, it’s working.”

“Didn’t it rain last night?” Plume asked, looking at his dry surroundings.

The drow nodded. “That’s why I haven’t had anyone else do it. You asked what you could do.”

Plume nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Plume decided he’d head to the College. He went up to the third floor, and knocked on Mentha’s door. She opened it, and looked up at him with tired eyes.

“Where’ve you been off to?”

“I felt restless. I went to the square to see what I could do.”

Mentha nodded. “Tri’n runs a tight ship, when it gets to the important stuff. He wouldn’t have let us leave without finishing. Why don’t you come in, you look exhausted.” Plume stepped in and sat on the bed. “I’m going to get ready for the festival, but you should get some rest. I know you didn’t get much last night,” she said, grinning.

Plume nodded with a tired smile. He lay down and closed his eyes.

He was woken a few hours later, with a start. He was terrified it was Gigtern, and nearly slashed out with his claws. He saw, though, that it was Mentha, her face painted with various shapes and interesting patterns. Her brow was furrowed and she wore a look of concern, both for herself and for Plume.

“Wow, Plume, you nearly got me there,” she said, noting his claws.

Plume took a few deep breaths, calming down. “Yeah… must have been a nightmare.”

Mentha nodded. “If those keep up, go see Mystus. He knows a thing or two that should help.”

“Interesting makeup you’ve got.”

Mentha smiled. “You think so? I’m not letting Iliris out-do me this time around.” She started to put away her supplies, then paused. “I could give you something nice, too, if you want.”

“I’m not exactly in the competitive mood.”

“That’s fine. It doesn’t have to be so outlandish. What if I brightened up your stripes? That’d look quite interesting.”

Plume considered it. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

So Mentha had him sit in a chair, and she dyed the normally dark fur striping his body a striking white. She let the stripes under his clothes stay dark, “it wouldn’t make much of a difference,” she said. After it all, Plume admired himself in the mirror.

“I like it. Not an everyday look, but…”

“...it’ll catch you the right kind of attention at the festival.”

Plume smiled. “Hey, this being my first festival, could I keep around you? Not quite certain of myself.”

“Oh, sure, you need help navigating a festival. You could feel at home at any celebration, given there’s drinking and loud music. Which shouldn’t be in short supply tonight.”

“Well-”

“Just because it’s a silly excuse doesn’t mean I’m not going to let you accompany me. Call it a date.”

Plume laughed. “Very well. Miss… I don’t actually know your family name.”

Mentha giggled. “Mentha will work. After all, you don’t even have a family name, do you ‘Inked Plume?’”

Plume shrugged. “Doesn’t stop people from calling me ‘Mr. Plume.’”

“Well, it’ll stop me, because that sounds weirdwrong. Let’s go.” They walked out, an interesting pair. He almost tried to take her arm, but she was nearly half his height. When they arrived, the festival was already in swing.

Mentha took it in. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Plume nodded. “So much joy.” They headed in and enjoyed the sights.

They had been enjoying themselves for nearly an hour, Mentha showing off sleight-of-hand and tricks of the eye, while Plume played his flute around the square, when Tri’n, the drow, approached them.

“Good, Plume, just who I need. I’ve been hearing about problems with some of the structures, and we need your height. Head in there and help out, would you?” he pointed to one of the supports for a large stage. He glanced at Mentha and she nodded at him.

“Go on, I’ll be fine on my own.”

Plume wasn’t sure what to do, but Tri’n assured him it’d only take a second. He decided to he’d go in. He went in and started climbing a small ladder. He reached the top of the support and lowered the trapdoor, then noticed Gigtern in there. Gigtern noticed him too. He gave Plume a little wave, then stepped over to him.

“I’ve got to get that nail up there, it’s loose,” he said, gesturing with a crowbar. He stood right on top of the trapdoor as he pounded the nail it. Plume backed away from the dwarf, and tried to form a plan.

Gigtern was holding a nail in place, and asked, “Aye, cat. Can you get me one of those nails there? I don’t think this one’s long enough.” He was gesturing to a box of nails on the floor next to him. Plume cautiously stepped over to the box, and turned to it, grabbing a nail. He heard a heavy step toward him and turned to see Gigtern already with his hammer raised above his head.

Plume rolled away and grabbed his flute, blowing the first few notes he could think of and casting a spell. A thunderous wave roared through the small room, and Gigtern was sent flying into the wall.

From outside, nothing seemed amiss. Sheaf was concerned, he didn’t know where the dwarf was, and Plume hadn’t yet come out from the support. He was about to try to investigate, when he heard a splintering noise. His head shot up and he saw the source, the support Plume had entered. He cocked his head to the side, and heard more splintering, and a crack. The whole structure was starting to tumble over. He looked from the structure to the ground below. There were many festival goers, all right where the support was going to fall.

He ran, and started shoving people out of the way. He cleared a decent path, and those who he’d pushed saw what was happening. They started panicking and yelling, but it wasn’t enough. Sheaf dove inside and tackled the last person who hadn’t moved, a seemingly dumbstruck halfling.

A hush had fallen over the festival. No one seemed hurt, thanks to Sheaf, but there suddenly was movement from the end of the structure. Plume pushed the last bit of broken wood off of himself, and stood, coughing in the dust. He dug around and found Gigtern, pulling him up by the collar. The dwarf was still dazed from Plume’s spell, and had trouble staying standing.

“Ladies, and gentlemen, I have an announcement. This dwarf was attempting to ruin the festival!” He cast his eyes around and saw Sheaf, who gestured for him to continue.

“This dwarf,” he rooted around in his pockets for the letter, “was given orders to sabotage this festival, and endanger all of you!” Some murmuring had picked up in the crowd. “He intended to do that by weakening the structures around the festival, and letting them fall, taking with them whoever was standing beneath them!”

The murmuring continued, until a voice shouted, “Well, why would he do that?”

Plume smiled. “To make the College look reckless. To make the College seem like a threat to your safety! And all of this, under the orders of King Duskstone himself! I have the orders here, with Duskstone’s stamp and signature!”

The murmuring grew to a raucous debate within the square, and Plume took the opportunity to step out of the center of attention, dropping the letter on the rubble.. He walked to Sheaf, and let out a deep breath.

“So, was that your plan, at least somewhat?”

“Not in the slightest, but I think that works better.”

“Didn’t you say there were others from outside?”

“Yes, and I’ve taken care of them. As it turns out, we do not need them. From what I am hearing, there’s quite the outcry against Duskstone already.” Throughout the square, people were reading the letter, and Mystus had stepped back onto the rubble, seeming as it was the best stage there was left. He addressed the crowd.

“The first thing I’d like to say is that I’m terribly sorry such a thing has happened under the College’s watch. The second thing that I’d like to say is that Gigtern Ablestern is officially barred from the College indefinitely, and we would like to turn him over to the Fellshine authorities. Thirdly, the letter in question is going to be analyzed by a trusted associate of the College, Twist. You all know Twist, of course. Until then, the College will not speak on our thoughts toward King Duskstone. Finally, despite all this commotion, the festival is still on! Let’s not allow a few broken beams stop the revelry!” That last statement brought up a cheer from the crowd, and he made his way off the rubble.

He walked to Plume. “For your sake and ours, I hope everything you said is true. What in the hell happened up there?”

“I had to use one of the spells you taught me.”

Mystus thought for a minute. “The spells I taught you… you mean you used the one spell that breaks things, in an already unstable tower, during a festival?”

“I’m new to this. It worked, didn’t it?”

Mystus conceded. “I suppose it did.” He left Plume alone, tending to the rest of the festival. Just then, Plume felt a tugging on his shirt. He turned to see Mentha, an unreadable expression on her face.

She spoke, “You’re telling me exactly what’s going on, right now, you son of a bugbear.”

Plume was confused. “What did I do?”

“You told me this was nothing! Just some paranoia from your friend! I nearly died!”

“Oh, right. I can explain everything, now that it’s all over. Right, Sheaf?” The kenku nodded, and they found somewhere quiet. They ended up in a tavern, where Plume bought a round of drinks. He explained the whole situation to her, Cockatrice, Duskstone, and Gigtern’s place in all of it.

“Does that explanation satisfy you?” Plume asked.

Mentha thought. “I’m still pissed off. But the ale is helping, and I’m sure I’ll be peachy after a few rounds.”

“That’s fair.” He turned to Sheaf. “Any plans on the horizon?”

Sheaf nodded. “A caravan is leaving tonight to a small town in the east. I have a few contacts there I would like to meet up with.”

“Again with these mysterious contacts. Are you ever going to tell me who these people are?”

“Are you ever going to help me negotiate with them?”

Plume smirked. “Not a chance, brother.”

Sheaf nodded. “Then you may continue finding trouble while I do my work.” He turned to Mentha. “It has been a pleasure meeting you. I hope Plume was not too much of a bother.” She stifled a giggle as Sheaf stood. “Shall we go, then, Plume?”

“Wait, right now?”

“There’s no better time.”

Plume shook his head. “I need to get something. I’ll meet you there.”

Sheaf sighed. “Be quick. We’re meeting at the eastern trail.”

Plume stood and wound his way quickly through the streets. He found his way to the now familiar shop. He stepped inside and Twist greeted him with a warm smile.

“Plume, old boy. I’ve been waiting on you.”

“Sorry about that, the festival got a little out of hand.”

“I heard about that. Quite a stir, you caused.”

“I didn’t start it, in fairness.”

Twist nodded. “Right you are. I have your ring here,” he said as he pulled it from under his counter. Cast in sturdy iron was a perfect replica of the signet ring from Saúte.

“Remarkable,” Plume said. “How much?”

“You know, after the whole escapade with the festival, I feel alright letting you have it for free. You did the College a good turn today.”

“Are you sure? I can’t just let you work without pay.”

“Nonsense, boy. It was a joy to make. A nice change of pace. Too easy to charge much, too. The College overpays me, call it a gift from them.”

Plume smiled. “Thank you, Twist. I appreciate it. If I ever need anything made, I’ll come to you.”

“Tell people about me, Fellshine could use the attention.”

“Will do,” Plume said, leaving the shop. He slipped the ring onto his finger as he made his way to the eastern trail. He spotted Sheaf outside one of the wagons.

“Look what I got, Sheaf!” Sheaf turned and saw him showing off his hand. He took a close look at the ring on it.

“That looks correct. Perhaps soon we will find it’s purpose.”

“That’s the hope,” Plume said as he hopped on a wagon, setting out to the east.


End file.
